Bring me a darling whose gift for silliness makes me laugh till I cry, jaws and belly aching until I beg him to stop before I pee myself. Whisk us to the ocean to leave footprints in the sand while we breathe salt air, dodge the surf, search for keepsakes, then trade our shoes for boots and a horse named Charlie whose massive body, sweaty from the ride, thunders us down the beach scattering seagulls in his path. Plant us in the kitchen with spinach and dough and the good knife, tomato sauce bubbling in the iron skillet, noses full of garlic and a big red wine. Allow us to taste the creamy pudding, dense and chocolate. Make sure he stays into the night when our drowsy bodies turn over beneath blankets like twins in the womb, front to back spoons in a pillow-top drawer; skin to skin, legs intertwined, breath synchronized. We'll heave a sigh in praise of rest and surrender every fiber into stillness.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Bring me a darling
Bring me a darling whose gift for silliness makes me laugh till I cry, jaws and belly aching until I beg him to stop before I pee myself. Whisk us to the ocean to leave footprints in the sand while we breathe salt air, dodge the surf, search for keepsakes, then trade our shoes for boots and a horse named Charlie whose massive body, sweaty from the ride, thunders us down the beach scattering seagulls in his path. Plant us in the kitchen with spinach and dough and the good knife, tomato sauce bubbling in the iron skillet, noses full of garlic and a big red wine. Allow us to taste the creamy pudding, dense and chocolate. Make sure he stays into the night when our drowsy bodies turn over beneath blankets like twins in the womb, front to back spoons in a pillow-top drawer; skin to skin, legs intertwined, breath synchronized. We'll heave a sigh in praise of rest and surrender every fiber into stillness.
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